Donations are essential to keep Write Out Loud going    

WOLOP.nov (Remove filter)

Recent Comments

Marla Joy on Lions Land.
2 hours ago

Greg Freeman on Dominoes
2 hours ago

M.C. Newberry on Combe Gibbet
3 hours ago

Ian Whiteley on Citizens
3 hours ago

M.C. Newberry on Sashaying to Byzantium
3 hours ago

M.C. Newberry on IT AIN'T ME, BABE
3 hours ago

Auracle on Festive FM
4 hours ago

Tim Higbee on Grandfather
5 hours ago

TobaniNataiella on She Says Goodbye
6 hours ago

R A Porter on Sashaying to Byzantium
9 hours ago

WOLOP for November

 

Dzien dobry folks!  We have come to that popular time of the month again where everyone gets to know just who won the most coveted prize on WOL ��" of course, Write Out Loud Outstanding Poem of the Month!

November saw the posting of some 352 blogs ��" a fascinating mixture of prose, advertising, pornography and arguably - some poetry…

 

Thirteen people voted and happily some even managed to ...

Read and leave comments (10)

WOLOP.nov

shapeless & transcendent

I am shapeless, I am
transcendent, I am
moving through birdsong
as dawn gently breaks through
the clouds of my mind
I am weightless, I am
resplendent, I am
ecstatic to find
the keys that release
the mental chains that bind
I am boundless, I am
ever-present, I am
free to perceive
all that I am and all that is me
And all that I am
and all that is me
is the freedom to be
shapeless and transcendent,
weightless and fre...

Read and leave comments (7)

WOLOP.novtranscendentshapeless

Under the Wire

Descending panting from the top
(where god is always in the lower case)
The wind bleached lichen
gives way to greener stuff.
We re-assert a modicum of breathless grace
and skirt the bog (why is such a vastness called a 'mere'?)
much as we skirt the subject
never managing to reach the nub of it.


At the bridge we part
before all our alibis expire.
In your face the rumour of a tear
and I am just a hank of woo...

Read and leave comments (17)

WOLOP.nov

DARK ART

 

The wind blows wild as Rooks explode

In buffeted delight.

Spreading their wings into the squall

In roistering, reckless flight.

Their swirling tangled dance of joy

Proclaims a mastery

Of three dimensional excess

And death to Gravity.

Read and leave comments (5)

WOLOP.nov

The Sons

 

The coil of summer is spent and in the cold, we bruise;

a roll of litmus papers, tears acidic in the night. 

Here death knuckles, grit bites - the fever of our jaws as we repent

 

our steadfast boots, our gallant wooden toys, our rampant

springs of duty. We swallow hard and taste the theft

with every buckle around our waist

 

and every scar stitched onto o...

Read and leave comments (3)

WOLOP.nov

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message